


We'll Always Be Chasing the Sun

by uhpockuhlipz



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: F/F, Lena's pov, POV Second Person, this is soft and gay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-25
Updated: 2017-02-25
Packaged: 2018-09-26 18:50:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9916247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uhpockuhlipz/pseuds/uhpockuhlipz
Summary: Some people might see Kara Danvers as nothing more than an enthusiastic puppy, but Lena knows she is actually more like a cat; always stretched out in sunlight, content and warm and at peace with the world around her. (And Lena loves her more than she can say.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is based on a tumblr post and it was so sweet that I had to write it, and of course I had to make it karlena because I fucking love the shit out of them. This is the softest, gayest fic ever and it's established relationship, which I generally don't write. So I hope you like!

She is stretched out beside you when you are roused by the sunlight streaking in through her open windows. The blankets are shoved down to her waist and her back, bare and smooth, is golden in the early morning light. Glowing almost, you think with a soft smile, your mind still caught in that place between sleep and wakefulness. Like Kara radiates sunlight herself.

You roll towards her, your movements heavy and languid still with sleep. Though you are used to waking around dawn, there is something about Saturdays, something about waking beside Kara that makes you want to stay in bed for the entirety of the day.

“Good morning,” you murmur, your hand smoothing down her back before you press your lips between her shoulder blades, lingering there when she stirs and grumbles. Her face is still buried in her pillow, but you know the moment she wakes, know the moment she comes around enough to hide her smile against it.

Something that sounds like _morning_ is said, muffled against the pillow, and you smile against sun warmed skin beneath your lips. Your hand slides up her side and down her back again and she hums, stretches, then turns to wrap her arms around you as you knew she would, drawing you in until she can meet your lips with her own. She moves as dreamily as you had, her hands smoothing over your hips and back before slipping into your hair. She has a fascination with your hair.

“Morning,” she says again, this time breathing the word into you as her lips curve beneath your own. She leans back against her pillow again and finally, finally, she opens those eyes you so adore. Blue and bright and clear, as infinite as the universe she’d traveled through to be here by your side.

(You like them best like this, without the barricade of lead-lined glasses. They aren’t steel now, not like when she’s in her cape and costume, and they’re not shy and darting either. You think, in these moments, that you are truly seeing Kara Zor-El.)

She’s still smiling, one hand skimming through your hair while the other traces with something like wonder over your shoulder and down the curve of your spine. Kara is very tactile, you’ve learned, and she likes to discover all the small, secret places that make you shiver.

“Good morning,” you say again, chuckling quietly as your lips press to her cheek, her chin, her jaw. “Are you sufficiently awake?”

“Sufficiently awake enough for what?” she asks, but there’s a teasing quality to her voice that makes you laugh, your head lifting again. You hover over her, hair a tumbled waterfall of black around both of your faces, swallowing the sunlight so you’re cast into shadows. Your bottom lip catches between your teeth and her eyes flicker down to the gesture, fascinated, before they move up to yours again. She leans up and kisses you again, a little deeper now, a little less sleepy.

When she rolls you so carefully onto your back, you move with her. You watch her with slumberous eyes as the sunlight streaks through her hair and it shines, golden and curling, around a face soft with adoration. And it’s for you, you think, curling your fingers into the heavy warmth of it as Kara kisses down your body. Kara’s affection is for you, her devotion is yours, her tender kisses and worshipful touches are given only to you.

Kara _loves_ you.

And that alone warms you as surely as her kisses, as surely as the sun that pours into the room and drenches the bed you share in light.

 

//

 

You sleep again, drowsy with the afterglow of being loved, and when you wake, Kara is no longer beside you. She hasn’t gone far, but sits curled on the cushioned bench at the foot of the bed, her laptop on her lap and her glasses perched on top of her head. It isn’t unusual, waking to find Kara sitting there if you sleep in a bit longer than normal. Despite her morning drowsiness, she isn’t one to stay in bed.

You watch her while she’s still unaware, just as adoring as she. The sunlight had shifted, you realize, and the sheets are cool with shadows again. The sunlight has moved to the foot of the bed and beyond so that Kara is still caught on it, hair bright and now intricately braided back from her face. She’s beautiful, you think, and you lay there because it seems so suiting. You tucked into the shadows and she bathed in warmth and color, so true to who she is.

Of course, she doesn’t stay unaware long. You wonder what it is that alerts her. Is it a shift in your breathing, a change in your heart rate? Had she been listening for you to stir? Or can she just sense you, like when she steps into your office and you swear the air itself changes? Whatever it is, she turns her head and catches your eyes, smiling fully, bright and without guile. A particular brand of smile she saves only for you.

There are many pieces to Kara Danvers. Sadness and destruction, grief and secrecy. Vast intelligence buried beneath the guise of fitting in. She is joy and warmth and endless optimism and you love her, every part of her, every shadowy corner, every sharp, jagged edge. Sometimes you ache with how much. How easy it would have been, you think, for her to lose herself to the darkest parts of her heart. But Kara chooses the light, the warmth, the kindness.

(And when she smiles at you, it’s like the sunlight stretches out between you and fills you up, pushing your own shadows away.)

“Morning again, sleeping beauty,” she murmurs and your lips curve in return as you look right back at her.

“Good morning again,” you agree, stretching once before rolling towards the side of the bed. She is there before your feet touch the floor, but you do not startle at the display of speed, only smile as she offers you a shirt to wear. You tug it lazily over your head and it smells like Kara. You’re only minimally embarrassed when she comes back a second later with some sweatpants and your nose is buried in the collar, breathing her in. “Thank you,” you tell her, tugging the pants up your legs.

When you stand, she gathers you in, kissing you in small, affectionate bursts all across your face until you giggle and swat at her. She combs her fingers through your hair, gathering it up for you, carefully wrapping a hair tie around it to hold it in place for you. You close your eyes and bask in her sweetness.

“Come sit with me,” she murmurs against your forehead and you sigh, squeezing her once around her waist.

“Let me brush my teeth first,” you reply, and she nods before kissing you and grabbing her computer again.

It doesn’t take you too long and when you walk out again, she’s sprawled across her living room couch, eyes closed against the sunlight that stretches in from the wide windows. Kara’s loft walls, you notice, seems to be made of nothing _but_ windows, windows and bricks. It’s such a bright, cheerful place she’s made and you find that you love it, as you love her, though it is much smaller than any space you’ve ever had.

(It feels like home.)

You move to the arm of the couch and dip down over it to press a kiss to her forehead, her nose, her lips, which curve against your upside down kiss with generous affection. “Yum,” she says, leaning up to kiss you again. “You taste like toothpaste.”

“And you already taste like processed sugar,” you tease in return, moving around the couch to stretch over her. She wraps around you, nuzzling lazily into the mess that is your loosely subdued hair. “How many donuts have you had?”

“Only like two.”

“Dozen?”

Her eyes slit open in a mock glare, but it dissolves quickly enough and she laughs quietly against you. “Okay, maybe three.”

“Mhm.”

“Four tops.”

You giggle and close your eyes, enjoying the warmth of the sunlight as it cradles both of you in its rays. You always feel like it’s somehow borrowed for you, like Kara has somehow taken extra to share because she knows how cold you were before her, before this. Before she’d loved you.

(Your father’s love had been for duty, for obligation. Your brother’s love qualified with a manic sort of jealousy you hadn’t realized until much later in life. And Lillian? Lillian’s love had been nonexistent, a figment of imagination used as a weapon and a tool only when she needed you.

But Kara’s love demands nothing from you, not even that you love her in return. But you do. Oh, you do.)

 

//

 

You’re surprised it takes you as long to realize as it does. It’s been months that you’ve been spending time with her like this, after all. Months of waking beside her in bed, stretching out with her on the couch to watch Netflix, sitting on the floor in front of her chair while she works her fingers through your hair and twists it into hairstyles even more complicated as her own, sitting beside her at the kitchen table while you both do work.

Sometimes she even pushes away from the table and sprawls out in the middle of the floor. “To think,” she says.

But it’s only now, watching her stretch out across the hardwood, that you realize the pattern. And suddenly you’re laughing, a full belly laugh that has your eyes tearing with it.

“What’s so funny?” she asks when you can breathe again, half sitting up, her weight leaning back on her hands as she watches you. Her head is tilted, her lips curved, her hair again caught in the sunlight.

(If you didn’t know any better, you would think her a goddess, a sun warrior. And you suppose she is, in a way. But she’s also Kara, just Kara, soft and sweet and yours.)

“You,” is your answer, grinning down at her now as you rub a finger at the corner of your eye, ridding it of the tears that had gathered there. “God, I bet you don’t even realize you do it.” She looks completely flummoxed and it makes you laugh again, quietly now, affection filling you until you’re afraid you might burst. “Kara, you’re like a damned cat.”

“What?”

“A cat. Chasing the sunlight across every piece of furniture. And onto the floor,” you add, motioning to Kara with a wave. Kara looks down at herself, must only just then notice she’s sat dead center of the light streaming through her wide windows. She holds up a hand, fingers cupped as if she can catch it in her hands, and you soften with everything you feel for her. Pushing out of your chair, you move to sit across from her, your hand stretching out until it fits over hers.

She twines your fingers together and laughs, just a little.

“I’ve never really noticed I do that,” she confesses and you smile, leaning across her lap to kiss her.

“It’s cute,” you assure her, your nose brushing softly across hers.

“It is?”

You nod. “It is.”

She smiles at you in the last dregs of daylight, more golden than white now as it grows ever closer to the horizon. Her hair is aflame, glowing with the oranges and reds of the fading sun, and you kiss her again because you can. Because she’s yours and you’re so, so hers.

“What do I do at night?” she wonders, her fingers curling into your hair to keep you close.

“You become my sun.” You say the words without thinking, a quiet whisper across her lips as she guides you closer to her warmth. And then, “I love you, Kara,” because you never tire of your ability to say them, of the wondrous smile that makes her cheeks dimple and her eyes crinkle at the corners, of the way she breathes your name like you’re the one who’s the miracle.

And you certainly never tire of the way she whispers, “I love you too,” without any doubts or stipulations.

It is simply truth.

Together you stretch out in the last moments of daylight, watching as the light fades into the purples and blues of twilight, warm colors bleeding into cool. And you think of how dark and lonely the night can be.

But when the sun reflects off of the moon, it brings new light to the shadows.


End file.
